Beyond Worlds, Beneath the Star God

The city of Vael'Tharin rose from the eastern plains like a stone mirage, its white walls glinting in the midday sun. From a distance, it looked like a place of peace—banners fluttered from towers, and songbirds circled its marble spires.

But as Kun and the others approached, something felt... off.

The guards at the gate smiled too easily. The commoners walked with perfect rhythm, their eyes never lingering. Even the air seemed hushed, as if sound itself obeyed an unseen will.

"I don't like this place," Lyra whispered as they entered through the eastern arch.

"It's too perfect," Rein muttered. His hand never strayed far from the hilt of his sword.

Elandor's gaze lingered on the statues flanking the main road. "This city was built by the Old Mages during the Second Accord. But it fell centuries ago. The question is—how was it reclaimed?"

"And by whom," Kun added.

---

They moved through the streets carefully, posing as traveling scholars. Elandor claimed to be researching "arcane faultlines," which earned them a three-day pass from the guards. But as soon as they entered the inner district, Kun felt something press against his mind.

A whisper. Faint, like a finger tracing the edge of his thoughts.

He clenched his jaw. Lyra staggered beside him.

"Did you feel that?" she asked.

Kun nodded. "She's here."

---

At the heart of the city stood the Hall of Mind—an obsidian tower veined with living crystal. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.

According to the locals, it was the residence of High Lady Mirielle, the current ruler of Vael'Tharin. She was said to be brilliant, fair, and blessed with a rare gift for diplomacy.

And no one had seen her outside the tower in over a year.

Elandor narrowed his eyes as they approached. "That tower was once a thought-engine—a place where psychic mages pooled their consciousness to manipulate memory and dream."

"She's using it to amplify her reach," Lyra realized. "That's how she's controlling the city."

Rein scowled. "Or erasing the parts of it she doesn't like."

---

They entered under the pretense of requesting audience—Elandor's false credentials giving them just enough weight to warrant a meeting. But before they reached the main hall, the doors slammed behind them, and the world twisted.

The floor vanished.

The walls melted into stars.

And Kun found himself standing alone, inside a mind that wasn't his own.

---

"Welcome, Starborn."

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, soft as silk and cold as glass.

A figure emerged from the void—tall, elegant, clad in a dress of shifting illusions. Her eyes glowed with purple light, and her face changed with every blink—young, old, kind, cruel.

"I am Lady Malthera," she said. "The Eighth Shadow. Queen of Threads, Weaver of Minds."

Kun's fists clenched. "So it's true. You're behind this city."

"I shaped it," she replied. "I loved it. And when it broke, I stitched it back together. The people here are not enslaved—they are protected. Free of pain, fear, rage. Their thoughts are aligned. Their hearts... silent."

"You've stolen their will," Kun spat.

Malthera smiled. "They gave it willingly."

---

The illusion shattered, and they were back in the throne hall.

The doors closed with a heavy thud behind them.

Lyra, Rein, and Elandor had joined him again, all of them now standing before the throne—upon which sat a woman wrapped in velvet, her eyes hidden by a silver veil.

"You didn't need to come here, Starborn," she said. "But now that you have... you may stay. Forever. A mind like yours would power this city for centuries."

The throne cracked open, revealing a psychic nexus beneath—a swirling vortex of thoughts and stolen souls.

Rein reached for his sword.

Elandor whispered, "She's starting the link—she's trying to bind us."

"Not this time," Kun said, stepping forward.

Malthera's voice rang like bells. "You think your starfire protects you from the mind?"

And then the attack came—not physical, but mental.

---

It was a storm of thoughts.

Screams of the dead, broken memories, twisted dreams. Kun fell to one knee, his hands clutching his head as voices clawed through his mind.

But in the midst of the storm, something ignited.

A star.

The starfire wasn't just flame. It was clarity.

It burned not only through shadows but through lies.

Kun's mind lit with golden constellations, pushing back the storm, cracking the grip of Malthera's net.

He rose again, eyes blazing.

"I see now," he said. "You don't rule this city. You're hiding in it. Feeding off it. You're afraid."

For the first time, Malthera's expression faltered.

---

A psychic backlash rippled from Kun as he stepped forward, his starfire forming protective rings around his allies. Rein broke the seal with a single slash, and Elandor cast a binding rune on the tower's core. Lyra focused her own magic to sever the mental relay.

Malthera screamed—not with rage, but desperation.

The throne crumbled.

The nexus imploded.

And the Hall of Mind collapsed.

---

They stood in the ruins, breathless, as the people of Vael'Tharin slowly woke from their long slumber. Confused, blinking, truly seeing the sky again for the first time in years.

Kun said nothing.

But deep in his chest, he felt the second seal within the Codex shift.

Unlocked.